


I Hold a Beast, an Angel, and a Madman in Me.

by Craftnarok



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Flint has a thing about Silver's hair, Hair Washing, M/M, Modern AU, Silver still lost his leg, Some angst, and he's trying to deal with that, and porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6396928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craftnarok/pseuds/Craftnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mod!AU. Silver is coming to terms with the loss of his leg, and Flint is trying to help him, but he's finding Silver's lack of self-care troubling. Starts a little angsty, but it gets happier, I promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hold a Beast, an Angel, and a Madman in Me.

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Modern au or canon verse, something where Flint washes Silver's hair. Bonus points for porn, though not necessary.
> 
> \------------
> 
> So this ended up kind of huge and angstier than intended, but there's hair washing, pretty much a full-blown hair fetish on Flint's end, and some gentle porn for those bonus points. Hopefully it does what you were looking for.

In the two months since Silver’s misfortune, and the loss of a leg it had entailed, Flint had stood quietly but resolutely by his side. Their relationship had been a burgeoning one, only half a year old, more or less, and just beginning to settle into a comfortable rhythm, but the accident provided a loss of equilibrium from which Flint was still trying to navigate a recovery. They called it ‘the accident’, when they called it anything at all, but nothing about it had been accidental; ‘a brutal and unprovoked assault followed by an emergency amputation’ was more accurately descriptive, but referring to it in such a way did tend to bring the mood down. Openness and emotional honesty were never Flint’s strongest suits and, in the face of Silver’s stubborn reticence in accepting his newfound vulnerability, he found it far easier to simply let things pass unsaid than to push into matters where he was unwelcome. Flint wasn’t afraid of conflict; it was very much not in his nature to hold his tongue and tread softly, in fact, but he was afraid of the toll which additional stresses might take on Silver’s already strained psyche. Not that he would ever tell him that. It was a fine line to walk, managing the care of a man who now needed so much from him, but who would shun anything that in his eyes resembled pity.

So Flint did what he could. He slowly moved more of his things into Silver’s apartment, and he stayed there every night unbidden, until it was just an accepted fact that they were living together without ever having discussed it. He ran Silver to and from his hospital appointments, and he sorted his errands, and did everything he could think of to distract him from the boredom and frustration of being trapped by the limits of what he could do on crutches; his wound was still too fresh to be fitted for a prosthesis. And it was alright, for the most part, and they cooked together and joked together and pretended that everything was fine, but he could no longer ignore his growing concern. He had tried not to hover, and he had allowed Silver to set the pace of his own recovery, but this particular issue had gone unspoken for far too long. The worry was beginning to gnaw at Flint, eating him up as he lay awake at night staring at the wall, entirely aware that Silver was staring at the one opposite, tormented by his own demons. Finally, as they sat in the kitchen after eating lunch one day, he spoke.

"When did you last wash your hair?" He asked.

Silver glanced up and then away, embarrassed. "Um, a while ago. I'm not sure. Max leant me some dry shampoo, which is apparently a thing, and I've mostly just been using that on and off. I haven't...I don't know, I'm just happy to have it tied back and out of the way. One less thing to have to worry about." Silver finished in a mumble.

"You’ve always taken such pride in your hair though." Flint said.

"Hardly. How can you be proud of something that just is?" Silver scoffed, picking up a three-day old newspaper from the kitchen counter and pointedly opening it to a random page. He stared at it, his eyes unmoving.

"You know what I mean." Flint said gently.

"I really don't and I'd appreciate it if we could stop talking about this now." Silver replied peevishly.

Flint opened his mouth to speak again, but the band of colour spreading up Silver's neck made him reconsider. Clearly this was even more of a sensitive topic than he'd realised. He sighed quietly. "Alright. I'm sorry. Just...if you want to talk about anything or if you want help or, you know, not _help_ but a hand then I'm happy to do whatever." Flint trailed off lamely. _Wonderful. How fucking eloquent_ , he thought. _Idiot_. He cleared his throat. "Coffee?"

"No thank you." Silver said in clipped tones, sniffing as he turned the page. “We’re out of coffee anyway.”

 _Fuck_. "Oh. I can go and buy some more then. Would you like to come? Or if you’d prefer some space, I don’t mind." Flint said, the feeling of bumbling uncertainty foreign and uncomfortable. "I can happily go and find someone else to irritate with stupid questions for an hour or two." He added, and he relaxed a little when he saw the suggestion of a smile tugging at the corner of Silver's mouth.

"Perhaps some space would be good." Silver said softly, still looking down at the paper. "For a little while. I'm sorry to be difficult."

"You're not." Flint replied. He walked over to where Silver was seated at the counter and, after a moment's pause, laid a hand on his shoulder and bent down to kiss the top of his head. "I'll head out for a while then. I have plenty of jobs to do. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Silver said nothing else, but he reached up briefly to squeeze Flint's hand, and for the moment that was enough.

 

* * *

 

Three days passed following Flint’s aborted attempt to discuss Silver’s concerning lack of self-care, and the matter was still on the tip of his tongue every time he looked at him. Silver’s once soft, thick curls were turned heavy and lank, tied into a permanent ponytail at the nape of his neck. And though Flint was sad that those locks, which he so loved to twist around his fingers and run through his hands, were being ignored, he was far more worried about the larger issue such a disregard implied. If Silver wouldn’t ask for help, then he would have to be the one to offer it and find a way to make him accept. As they sat together on the sofa on the evening of the third day, Flint’s self-imposed dam finally broke and he brought the subject up again.

“Why aren’t you washing your hair?” He said. He saw a muscle jump in Silver’s cheek as his jaw tensed.

“I don’t want to talk about this, James.” He replied.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave it be any longer. Please talk to me.” Flint said.

“Why are you pushing this?” Silver said, anger creeping into his tone.

“Because I want to help. I don’t understand, and I want to." Flint said.

“Maybe I don’t want you to understand.” Silver retorted. “It’s really none of your business, so please stop pestering me about it.”

Flint sighed heavily, but now that he’d started he couldn’t hold back. "I’d think it was depression,” he barrelled on, “but every morning you get up and go into the bathroom and I hear the shower run.”

“ _James_.” Silver’s voice sounded a warning, but Flint continued.

“You shower but you never come out with your hair wet. If it’s about balance, if you’re struggling, it’s ok to ask for help. Why don’t you use the shower seat? Or we could put handles on the-"

Silver cut across him, suddenly raging. “I am not sitting on a fucking shower seat and using plastic goddamn wall handles like some helpless geriatric cripple!” He shouted. He had pulled himself forward so that he sat perched on the very edge of the sofa, turned to face Flint with furious eyes. His knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the coffee table in front of him and he looked close to keeling over, but Flint daren’t interrupt him. Awful as it was, perhaps this was exactly what needed to happen. “I’m thirty two years old! Is this what my life is now? The rest of my days spent struggling around on a maimed stump of a leg while people stare at me and smile that same fucking smile every time that says ‘oh, what a pity, the poor thing’. I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t want it. I was just trying to help. For once, I try to do the right thing and I stick my neck out for someone else and it costs me a fucking limb. Now every day I have to see the reminder of the price of my own idiocy.”

“Is that what this is about?" Flint asked in disbelief. "You think this is somehow your fault?” 

Silver was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared, but he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly as he tried to regain his composure. Swaying slightly, he opened them once again and sank back into the sofa looking exhausted. “Isn’t it?” He said finally, his voice a hoarse rumble. “I could have kept my big mouth shut and just stayed out of it, but I had to try to play the hero. Now I’ll forever be that guy who tried to be a goddamn saviour and got taught the hard way that he should have just reverted to type and saved his own skin. The whole thing is just so fucking absurd.”

“Maybe.” Flint said, turning towards him carefully. “But I’m really not all that surprised, even if you are. You’re not quite the self-centred egotist you’d like to believe you are. There’s a thread of decency in you which you can’t will away, and whether you like it or not, you are the hero of this particular tale.” And deciding to risk a quip, he added: “If the cape fits…” He glanced at Silver out of the corner of his eye, trying and failing to stifle a smile as he was affixed with a scathing look.

“Don’t mock me, James. Not you.” Silver said quietly.

Flint sighed, sobering. “I just…I don’t know what to do. I want to help you, and you know it’s not out of pity. You know that it’s not.”

Silver nodded, eyes downcast, before he sighed and held his hand out between them, palm up and fingers splayed. With a small smile, Flint took his hand and entwined their fingers together. They sat in silence for some time, their hands linked, but eventually Silver seemed to come to a decision and, lying his head back to stare at the ceiling, he spoke again.

"You hear the shower every morning, because I want you to. I go into the bathroom and I turn on the water so you think that I'm showering like a competent fucking adult, and then I wipe myself down with a wet cloth over the sink so I don't have to look at the fucking mess that is what remains of my leg. Then I sit on the floor in the corner for five minutes or so until it seems like enough time has passed for it to be believable." His free hand was clenched into a fist in his jeans pocket and the words came out in a rush, as though it was the only way to stop them sticking in his throat.

"John..." Flint murmured.

"Don't. Just, please don't. I don't need more pity on top of everything else. Not from you." Silver's eyes were red rimmed, and they were staring fixedly at the ceiling, determined to look at anything other than Flint.

"Would you-if I were to share with you-would you have a bath with me?" Flint asked falteringly. We're he less nervous about the reaction he was going to face he might have appreciated the look of genuine surprise that took over Silver's face. It really was a rare thing to take a man as canny as him truly unawares.

"Pardon?" Silver said eventually, turning his face towards Flint.

"Would you have a bath if I were there with you? We could share it, or I could just sit with you." He paused, wondering just how far to push this. "I could wash your hair, if you wanted. I'd like to, if you'd let me."

Silver appeared to be focussing on keeping his breathing steady, and he was still avoiding making eye contact with Flint, but finally he looked up and said, "Maybe. That might work."

 

* * *

 

Leaving Silver in the living room, Flint headed off to start running the bath. As he stood watching the bathtub slowly fill up, he suddenly had an idea, and upon rummaging through the bathroom cabinet he found at the back a rather dusty bottle of foaming bath soak. The showy red label still stuck to the top read _‘Dear James, Happy Christmas! Love Max. xxx’_ He’d never quite worked out whether the gift was supposed to be a joke, as Max had made several flippant comments about just how much he needed to lighten up, and _'maybe try a nice bubble bath some time, James'_ , but it looked moderately expensive and smelled pleasant enough so he decided if there was ever an opportunity to use it, this was it. Pouring a generous splash into the bathtub it immediately foamed up and soon enough the entire surface of the water was covered with thick white suds. If seeing the leg was the crux of the problem, then perhaps this would help them make some early progress.

Once the bath was full, he called Silver through from the living room, and he didn’t fail to notice the way his expression softened as he saw the sea of bubbles. Wordlessly Flint offered him an arm to lean on as he propped his crutches against the towel rail and began to hesitantly undress. To his relief, Silver said nothing, but accepted the support as he slid out of his clothes and levered himself gingerly into the water. Once he was submerged, Flint began stripping off his own clothes and clambered in behind him.

“Budge up.” He said softly, and Silver complied, wriggling forwards until Flint could stretch a leg out on either side of him and he could lie back against his chest. For a long while they lay that way, Silver’s back resting against Flint’s front, head against his shoulder, with Flint’s arms wrapped around his middle, holding him close.

“Is this alright?” Flint said after several long quiet minutes.

“Yes.” Silver rumbled in reply. “Not seeing it helps. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Flint murmured.

“Where did you even get bubble bath from?” Silver asked, genuine amusement colouring his voice.

“Don’t ask.” Said Flint. “But it’s 'Luxury Foaming Bath Soak’, not bubble bath, thank you very much.”

Silver snorted, and Flint couldn’t help but smile at how much more relaxed he already seemed. Giving him a brief squeeze with his arms, he moved his hands up to Silver’s shoulders and gently pushed him forwards. “Come on.” He said. “Let me at your hair before it actually drives me mad.”

With a sigh Silver gripped the edges of the bathtub and pulled himself upright. Flint reached up and pulled the hair tie free, before starting to work his fingers through some of the thick tangle of dark strands. It was a knotted mess, but Flint was nothing if not a forward thinker and so he had brought a hairbrush through from the bedroom and laid it next to the bath in anticipation. Picking it up, he began to work methodically through the unruly mop.

It was slow going at first, Flint loathe to cause Silver too much pain, but when, despite his best attempts to be tender, Silver whined an _‘Ow!’_ he couldn’t help but mutter a gruff _‘Oh, hush’_ in response, before kissing his ear. Slow, gentle strokes worked loose the hair in sections until finally Flint was able to draw the brush right from the peak of Silver’s scalp down to the ends of his hair in one smooth motion. By this point Silver was practically purring, his eyes closed and his shoulders slumped in relaxation.

“Your hair is so long now.” Flint said softly, wrapping one hand around the ends, which were already weighed down with water, and pulling gently. Stretched out, Silver’s curls reached almost past his shoulder blades.

“I probably ought to get it cut really.” Silver said.

“No!” Flint replied quickly, dragging his fingernails softly over Silver’s scalp and down through the full length his hair. “Don’t. I like it this way.”

Silver hummed in response. “You cut all yours off, and I didn’t get a say in that.” He said.

“Yes, well, when your hairline starts creeping backwards too we can have the discussion again, but until then my vote remains for long.” Said Flint.

Silver huffed. “For the last time, you’re not that old and your hairline hasn’t receded that-“

“Shush.” Flint cut him off. “And pass me the jug.”

“No ‘please’? You’re so bossy.” Silver shot back, but he did as he was told anyway.

“Let’s not pretend we don’t both know that’s the way you like it.” Flint replied, taking the jug in hand and filling it with water.

Silver turned his head to glare at him, but there was no heat behind it and Flint only grinned smugly, catching his chin between his finger and thumb to hold him still while he placed a fleeting kiss on his lips. This was good, Flint thought. The joking and the ribbing had felt so forced for much of the past two months, but this felt real. This was them truly being comfortable in each other’s company once more, and it made Flint’s heart swell more than he cared to admit.

Turning Silver’s head back with a nudge of his hand, he lifted the jug of water and poured it over his hair slowly, watching its progress as it slicked the already dark strands to a glossy sheet of black silk. He couldn’t resist running his hand over it again, feeling the softness of it. Reaching for the bottle of shampoo he poured a measure into his palm and began working it into Silver’s hair, pressing the tips of his fingers into his scalp and massaging the skin there, working from front to back and top to bottom, over and over. Silver groaned at the contact, possibly rather more loudly than he had intended, and Flint huffed out a fond laugh.

“If you say anything, I’ll kill you.” Silver mumbled, and Flint only laughed more loudly.

Scrunching up the ends of Silver’s hair, Flint piled them on top of his head and worked the lather through them as well, taking his time and making sure to cover every inch of the long tresses. Finally, he rinsed his hands in the water and lifted the jug again, and again, and again, washing rivulets of bubbles down Silver’s hair and scratching his fingers through it until the water ran clear. Plucking a wash cloth from the shelf above his head, and brushing Silver’s hair over his shoulder, Flint dipped the cloth in the warm water and began smoothing it across the soft, tan skin of his back. He had never known someone who could keep a tan like the man in front of him could. In the depths of winter he seemed able to retain a golden glow, and in the summer he looked like a bronze figure of a god. Or perhaps that was Flint’s personal bias running away with him. Godlike or not, however, there was no denying that Silver was exceptionally attractive, wickedly funny, and far too clever for his own good, and almost daily Flint wondered at his luck to have caught the eye of such a man. Silver now seemed to see himself as down half a leg and somehow the lesser for it; Flint though, Flint saw the whole of the rest of him that remained and marvelled that he was allowed to so much as rest his gaze on even a single inch of him.

“What are you thinking about?” Silver said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?” He replied.

“You stopped. I assumed you’d had one of those moments of intense thought that make your eyes slide out of focus as you drift off somewhere else. Am I truly that devastatingly, distractingly handsome? I know it must pose a struggle for you.” Silver was looking over his shoulder again, watching Flint through his eyelashes.

 _Flirting_. _That was definitely flirting,_ Flint suddenly realised. _Well then. Hello, old friend._ Flint reached up, wrapped his fist around the entirety of the loose hair at Silver’s nape, and used it to tug him backwards until his back was once again flush with Flint’s chest. Silver let out a little keening breath, but there was definitely a note of triumph in his eyes as he looked up at him. Keeping his grip tight and the hair pulled just taut enough to prickle at Silver’s scalp, Flint dipped the cloth back into the water and swept it in long, hard strokes across his chest and stomach. “You’re a brat, you are aware of that?” He said, arching an eyebrow.

“I might be.” Silver replied smoothly. “The real question is, what do you plan to do about it?”

Flint narrowed his eyes, and he couldn’t help the tinge of worry that crept unbidden into the crease of his brow. This was good, more than he could have hoped for, but was it too much? Their touches had largely remained non-sexual since the accident, and pleased as he was to know that he was still seen that way, as god knows the feeling was mutual, only a few hours previously Silver had been on the verge of tears at the thought of having to look at his own leg for longer than a few moments, let alone having it exposed to scrutiny in the most vulnerable of positions.

Seeming to sense exactly the sort of thoughts that were running through his mind, Silver lifted his hand and placed it on the back of Flint’s head. “Please, James.” He whispered. “Just let me have this. If I can’t see it, I can bear it. I promise I’ll try harder to come to terms with it after this, but please…just give me this.”

Flint sighed and licked his lips, then he tightened his fingers a fraction harder on Silver’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. The angle was slightly awkward, but the intention was clear, and after two months of sharing little more than chaste pecks and holding hands it felt heady and wonderful. Silver eagerly pushed his tongue into Flint’s mouth, sucking at his lips and biting, trying to urge him on and win more intimate touches without having to ask aloud. _Brat indeed_ , Flint thought. He was happy to play along though. Discarding the wash cloth, Flint wrapped his fingers around Silver’s throat, squeezing gently and eliciting a low moan. Silver’s fingers dug into his skin, one hand wrapped around the back of a thigh which was securing him in place beneath the water, and the other still on Flint’s shorn hair. His fingertips dragged slowly down the back of his head, and he could feel the way the short hairs caught under them and then sprang upright again. His scalp tingled with it, and he had a moment of regret for his lost hair, but then Silver’s insistent tongue was back in his mouth and he was making _that noise_ and nothing else mattered but that he find a way to make him do it again. 

Releasing his hold on Silver’s throat, he smoothed his hand down the planes of his chest, still hard with muscle despite his recent confinement, and gave one of his nipples a sharp twist. The tongue left his mouth as Silver groaned, his head falling back onto Flint’s shoulder and his back arching. Flint bent his head down to kiss the juncture between Silver’s neck and his shoulder, and as he slid his hand across to tweak the other nipple, he bit into the muscle there. Silver jumped, but he laughed, sounding more carefree than he had in weeks, and as Flint sucked the patch of hot skin in his mouth, he moaned softly. 

“Please, James.” He said, and when Flint lifted his head back up to look at him, those bright blue eyes were arresting in their openness and sincerity. Flint’s breath left his chest in a whoosh as he was faced with the depths to which he cared for this man, who would lay himself bare before him, utterly vulnerable, and allow him to do whatever he wished, trusting that he would deliver him whole and unbroken at the other end. It was love, in point of fact, and Flint knew how to do nothing other than throw himself into it headfirst and wholeheartedly. 

Brushing a kiss over Silver’s temple, Flint finally slid his hand down his stomach to wrap around his cock, and the way Silver moaned made his stomach lurch with pleasure. He set up a smooth rhythm of stroking, uninterested in prolonged teasing, simply wanting to give Silver what he so desperately needed. He loosened his grip on his hair, sliding his hand under his arm and across his chest to pull him closer. The fingers on his thigh squeezed again and the hand behind his head slipped down to wrap around the forearm that held him tight. As he picked up the speed of his stroking, Silver turned his head to bury his face in Flint’s neck, not caring to stifle his moans, and his breath coming in gasps that burned hot against his skin. 

Flint had always loved this about him; when he gave himself over to him, it was fully and with a wantonness that sanctioned no shame or reserve on Flint’s part. For a man so self-assured in his own abilities and the rightness of his convictions, Flint had always had to wrestle with a deep-rooted and crippling fear that it somehow mattered what other people thought. It was an unpleasant dichotomy within him, but nothing helped to settle it like the infectious, brazen confidence of the man in his arms. That he might have lost some of that bravado was a travesty, in Flint’s eyes, and he would do whatever it took to bring it back. Irritating little shit Silver might be, but he was _Flint’s_ irritating little shit, and his was the only opinion that mattered. 

“ _James_.” Silver groaned, and Flint realised that his grip had loosened and his pace slowed as he was lost to thought, as Silver had rightly pointed out he was prone to doing. Perceptive little bastard. So he redoubled his focus on the task at hand, laying a kiss on Silver’s forehead, and it didn’t take long before he was coming with a loud moan, his fingernails digging little rows of crescent moons into Flint’s skin. As he came down again from his high he nipped at the skin of Flint’s neck with his teeth and Flint could feel him smiling into his damp skin. 

Lifting his hand from the now slightly lukewarm water, Flint wrapped his fingers around Silver’s jaw and lifted his face for a languorous kiss. He pulled away a few inches to regard his face, running the tips of his fingers feather-light across Silver’s forehead, his cheekbones, his jaw. This expression he wore, blissfully happy and just for a moment relieved of his troubles, was one he wanted to sear onto his mind so that he might never forget it. 

“Come on.” He murmured, when Silver showed no signs of moving under his own volition. “Before you get hypothermia.” 

“You’re such a mother-hen.” Silver grumbled, but he allowed himself to be hoisted upwards until he was standing with his left arm draped over Flint’s shoulders for balance. 

Pulling the plug, Flint turned on the shower and rinsed them both down with fresh, hot water. 

“What about you?” Silver said, looking down to where Flint was half hard, and then back up to his face. 

Flint smiled. “Don’t worry about me. This was for you.” 

Already Silver’s hair was coiling itself back up into dripping, wet ringlets and he reached up with his free hand to squeeze some of the water from them. Helping him out of the bath, Flint offered him a towel, and again he stood silently with his arm outstretched so that Silver could lean on him while he swathed himself and picked up his crutches. Although he knew it had been largely in jest, he took heed of the ‘mother-hen’ comment, and allowed Silver to make his own way to the bedroom to dry and dress himself. 

When Flint followed him through a minute later, he found Silver already seated at the dressing table wearing loose-fitting pyjama bottoms and nothing else. The dressing table and chair had been Max’s idea and, for some reason, Silver seemed to have selected her as the only other person in the world with whom he shared any of his secrets or worries, so he took the advice without complaint. He used the chair now to free his hands from his crutches while he looked into the mirror and smoothed a conditioning oil through his hair, taking another brush to it. 

Slipping into similar attire, Flint tossed his towel aside and slid up behind him. He reached out and took the brush from Silver’s hand, ignoring the indignant _‘Hey!’_ , and beginning to pull the bristles through the long strands himself. Silver exhaled loudly, but he leaned back in the chair in a gesture of quiet surrender, allowing Flint to continue with his ministrations and closing his eyes at the gentle scratching of the brush drawing over his scalp. 

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to have me developing a fetish.” He mumbled. 

“You might as well.” Flint murmured in response. “I have no plans to curb my own fixation with your hair any time soon, so you should probably learn to love it.” 

Silver only hummed in reply, but his mouth spread into a contented smile.

 

* * *

 

Some hours later, as they lay in bed together, Silver lounged with his head resting on Flint’s chest, his good leg hooked over one of Flint’s with his toes tucked beneath his warm calf. Flint’s hand was, unsurprisingly, buried in Silver’s almost dry curls, twisting them round his fingers and tugging them gently. 

“James?” Silver said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence which had descended on them. 

“Mm?” Came the response. 

“You know…you do know that I’m not fixed, don’t you?” Silver said, haltingly. “I’m grateful for earlier, and I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would, but I can’t promise that tomorrow morning I won’t close that bathroom door and find myself back exactly where I was before.” 

“I know.” Flint murmured, turning his face towards Silver’s hair and breathing in the clean scent of it. “I do know, but I hope you won’t feel as though you have to hide that from me.” He said. “If it’s difficult then I want to help you. Or at least, be there with you while you learn to help yourself. Whatever you need.” He kissed the top of his head, before adding, “And less of the ‘fixed’; you’re not broken.” 

Silver’s fingers tightened reflexively against his side, and Flint wrapped his arm more strongly around him, weaving the fingers of his other hand back through the warm curls close to his scalp. Of course there was a long way to go, he thought, but just perhaps they would be alright in the end if only they stayed the course together.


End file.
